Oscillating Snow
by ThePineappleKiller
Summary: Alphonse has constantly been bullied, ever since he was younger. His brother does nothing to help him, and his parents are too busy with their own lives to worry about his. What is there left for him to do? / High-School AU. Set in Alphonse's POV. Rated T for minor swearing and violence.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own FullMetal Alchemist.**

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I see the world in pictures. In colors.

Words and numbers hold no interest for me. They are simply a group of pictures formed into a certain line, a certain pattern. A certain set. I don't like knowing that one thing is supposed to be certain. Uncertainty makes things exciting, allows your inner artist to bloom.

I'm called many things at school. An idiot. A freak. Teachers shudder at the thought of me occupying their class; my fellow peers scoff and taunt me in the hallways, in classes. On the bus. Anywhere where they can sneak in, slip a nasty insult, and then slip out. People never seem to realize that the joke isn't as funny when you're on the retrieving end of it.

The bullying started when I was ten. That was the year that I realized math and reading don't hold any value to me. Why do I need math if my lifelong dream is to become a painter? So, I started to fall behind everyone else. I spent time in class drawing different forms and shapes instead of taking notes.

My teacher started to grow concerned when I was inching just below a C. She called my mother, and they had a long and tiring argument before Mother slammed the phone back on the receiver. I could see angry tears cascading down her face, her dirty woolen apron littered with moth-eaten holes. For a long time, she just stood there, before spinning around and kneeling on the floor in front of me. She clung to me, her hands wrapped around my back, her tears spilling into my hair. I gingerly raised my hand onto her back and patted it.

"It'll be okay, Mama, it'll be okay," I murmured. My speech came out slow. Broken.

It's been five years now and I'm still stuck in the same spot. I've become infamous over the years, often referred to as the freak of the class. The idiot. A waste of energy. They all think I'm stupid, that they are one step above me. This is not true. Not in the slightest.

Although I despise the words and numbers doesn't mean I don't remember them. Everyone in my family uses them constantly, which makes it difficult to run away from. My mother is a journalist; my father, a chemist. My brother sits in his room for hours on end, studying. Trying to outdo everyone else in his class. My brother's well known for being the genius of the school. How ironic that he would end up having someone like me as a brother.

My brother has seen me be picked on a few times before at school. It's usually a semi-large group of his friends who are doing it. Sometimes, he tells them to stop, in which they reluctantly listen to him and walk away. Other times, he simply watches, shakes his head, and leaves.

I don't have any friends at school. I've seen quite a few people give me sympathetic looks as they walk by when I'm being beaten, but they don't do anything to help. They all stay away from me during lunch, afraid that if they sat next to me, they'd be bullied as well. This leaves room for the bullies to step in and cause hell for me.

Everyday I'm beaten down, both mentally and physically. The words are just as bad as the blows. That's why I hate them. Words can do awful things to a person. They're like an evil snake, wrapping tightly around your body, refusing to let go. Squeezing you until you can't draw in a breath. It sucks away your laughter, your happiness. It kills you from the inside.

It seems like I've died again and again.

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**Alphonse seems pretty OOC in this chapter, which is _not_ what I was going for. Oops. **

**Sorry for it being so short, this is more of a prologue than anything else. I wanted to put some action in, but I realized that the way I was writing it didn't really allow me to put in any real scenes yet, so I decided to maket his more of an introductory than anything else. **

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own FullMetal Alchemist. :)**

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One punch. Two punches. Three punches.

"How does that feel, you damned freak? Can't you tell that no one likes you?" Another punch. "Not even your own mother can stand looking at you. I bet she thought about aborting you a_fter_ you were born!" Yet another punch, followed by chopped up laughter. "You're such an idiot. No wonder Ed is ashamed of calling you his sibling."

That last comment stung. Ed has always been somewhat of a role model to me, and knowing that he is ashamed of me hurts. It's always hard to tell the difference between the mental bullying and the truth, but I'm fairly certain that Ed _is_ ashamed of me. What is there to like about a brother like me?

My current tormentors fingernails are starting to dig into my skin, much like claws. His breath reeks of the school's mystery meat, and his face is contorted into a twisted smile. He can tell his last comment hurt me.

"What, are you depressed that your big brother hates you? Have you really not noticed until all this time?" He shakes me a little bit, my head hitting the back of the locker repeatedly. "Haven't you ever wondered why he never sticks up for you? It's because he hates you! He'd rather see you be beaten to a pulp than actually get in the way of things! He's chosen his friends over you, Alphonse. I bet that hurts, doesn't it?" When I don't reply, he shakes me some more and leans in. "Well, doesn't it? Answer me!" he screams, spit flying out of his mouth and landing on my shirt. I quickly nod my head. He finally backs up back into the crowd of people, smirking. I can hear people muttering things to each other. A couple kids laugh. I reach down, grab my school bag, and sprint down the nearest hallway.

I can feel tears start to prick into my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. I can feel a slight amount of blood dribble down my lip, but I ignore it. I can't focus on anything now but the words.

The kid who was harassing me is the one who started it all. He's a sophomore, along with my brother. He took a liking to Ed, because, although Ed can be quite the bookworm at times, he was still considered the smartass of the classroom, and that fit his idea of a friend perfectly. That is, until he came over to talk to Ed and met me. It only took one glance from him to know that he would hate me. His face shaped into some form of a grimace, as if he was looking at a disgusting picture, and he quickly backed away from me and headed to Ed's room. Then the bullying started.

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Hearing footsteps from down the hall, I quickly duck into a nearby room that is unlocked. I couldn't go back to class, not yet. I can't let people see me like this. Bringing up my sleeve from my sweatshirt, I try my best to rub away all the blood that currently drenched my chin. The sweatshirt I was wearing was a dark grey, so I didn't need to worry about anyone seeing it. They'll all probably think it's a stain from some other time.

I leaned my head back against the wall, sighing. I can hardly take a step into the school before someone does something to me. It doesn't matter who it is anymore. I've become the entire school's punching bag.

Reaching over and grabbing my bag, I quickly rifle through its contents before pulling out one of my newest pieces. The drawing itself was rushed, but the meaning behind it was still there. I smiled as I thought about it.

The picture was a drawing of a small girl laying down in a meadow, surrounded by flowers. The flowers are all burning, and ash was raining down from the sky above, but the girl is still able to manage a smile. You could see tears roll down her eyes as she breathes in the poisonous air, but she refuses to get up. (1)

For some reason, I feel a strange connection to this piece, far more than any of my other works. I've made numerous drawings and paintings over the years, but this one is by far the most meaningful. I gently place my hand over the smiling girl before setting the drawing back in my bag. I've come to a decision. There's no way in hell I'm going back to class.

Scrambling up from my seat, I quickly zipped up my bag, before opening the door and leaning my head out. It seems like everyone has headed back to class. Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I head towards the front doors. If any of the staff ask where I'm going, I'll say that I'm sick. The lie will probably catch up to me later, but at the moment, I don't really care. I just need to get out of here.

Covering the sunshine from my eyes using my hand, I step out of the school, sighing with relief. I don't often skip class, but when I do, no one seems to notice. If anything, they're disappointed that their favorite class distraction is gone. It's not like it makes much of a difference to me.

I can tell people often wonder why I don't fight back. A couple of years ago, I would have wondered the same thing. But I've learned something: it doesn't matter how many times you throw the punches back at them; they will never give up. In fact, that lights a fire in them, excites them even more. You can see it in their eyes. They become hungry for blood.

Completely ignoring it does no good either. That causes them to become frustrated, to push you to the point of near insanity.

So, if I can't fight back and if I can't ignore it, then what do I do?

I use words.

Of course, every time I verbally fight back, I get a bit disgusted in myself. Why am I using something that has hurt me so much already? It's the only possible way to make them stop, though. I don't fight back often, but when I do, it surprises them so much that they stop, allowing me access to quickly slip away. And that's how I've always handled it. Endure it for as long as I can, and when it becomes too much, throw a few insults and then dash away. It's the only way to handle a situation like this.

I've brought up the bullying with my parents quite a few times, but I can tell they don't really believe me. They always tell me that, if anyone threatens me or lays a finger on me, I should immediately tell the principle or another staff member in the school. I've told a few of my teachers, all of whom said they would watch the students closely, but they've never actually scolded anyone in front of me. What good is telling a teacher, anyway? They may be able to stop fights in the school, but outside of it is a whole new battlefield.

Walking down the sidewalk, I realize that I forgot my house key in my locker. I stopped for a moment, contemplating going back to the school to fetch it; after all, the route I was taking headed straight for my house. But I decided against it. It was just too big of a risk. Sighing, I turn around and head in the opposite direction; if I couldn't go home, then there was only one other place that I wanted to be at the moment.

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After walking for another ten or so minutes, I finally reached my destination. If you walk a little farther out of town, you'll find a small river. This river is really quite pathetic; the current is slow, and the bottom is caked with mud and litter. I don't mind any of that, though. The water is still a clear, calm blue. I don't know what it is, but the sound of this specific river seems to calm me. I've gone to numerous other rivers around Amestris, but none of them sound exactly like this one. And that's why I love this one so much. The sound seems to reel you in, invite you to come and relax. Smiling slightly, I sit down on the cool, lush grass. It wasn't a particularly sunny day today, but I don't really mind that. The grayish hues seem to combine perfectly with the river and the dark green grass. Opening up my book bag, I grasp around for a notebook and a pencil, before pulling them out and flipping to a new sheet of paper.

I don't know what it is, but whenever I start to draw, I can't get myself to stop. I can sit in one area for hours and draw at a time before realizing how much time passed. A lot of times, it's the teachers who pull me out of this line of concentration. School is when I draw the most, although I spend a good amount of time at home doing the same thing. My parents don't really approve of me drawing so much. They always tell me to focus on more important things, like math, or reading. They just don't seem to understand that those subjects are of no need to me.

Finishing my first sketch – a picture of the river running high into the sky above- I rip it out and set it into my folder with the rest of my sketches. I had already flipped to another new page, intent on starting another drawing, when I feel a hand grace my shoulder.

"I thought I would find you here," a voice said, and I quickly look up to see who it is. The first thing I notice is a blond braid.

"Ed? What are you doing here?" I asked, slightly shocked. Shouldn't he still be in school? He looks over at me, a confused look on his face.

"I got out of school a while ago. When I got home, I saw that you weren't there, so I knew you had to be down here," he explained. I couldn't help but smile. _It's good to know that my brother isn't a complete stranger. A stranger wouldn't know where I spend half of my time at._ "So, did something happen? You don't usually come to the river unless something upset you." I frown.

"Nothing different happened," I admit. "I was bullied again today, though. It left quite a few nasty bruises."

Ed blinks a couple times before sighing explosively and getting back up. All traces of sympathy have washed away from his face. "Al, why don't you ever stick up for yourself? Why don't you try and fight back every once and a while? You can't possibly expect me to save you every time someone lays a finger on you. That's not how high school works." His golden eyes bear into mine before I blink and look away.

"You know I've tried to, Ed, but it does no good," I mumble. The truth is that I don't have the physical ability to fight back with as much force as they do. Ed snorts.

"Yeah, the type of fighting you do is really great," he sneers. "They're about to wet their pants every time you call them a loser."

"Well, it's not as if I get a lot of options!" I say, my voice starting to escalate higher.

"Oh, you have plenty of options Al; you just choose to ignore them."

This stops me in my tracks. Does Ed seriously think I have choices when it comes to bullying? It's either a fight or flight situation, and the fighting portion of it will bring even more trouble. That means your only option left is to run.

"How do you know if you have a lot of choices when it comes to bullying? You've never been bullied in your life," I seethe, starting to get irritated with Ed's cocky attitude. This seems to strike something in Ed, judging by the way his shoulders lift up slightly.

"Never been bullied in my life? Don't be a dumbass, Al. I've been bullied plenty of times, thanks to you," he growls, his eyes shooting daggers.

"Because of me? What have I possibly done that causes you to be bullied?"

"You're yourself. That's enough to be ashamed of."

His last sentence is accompanied by silence. I sit there, my mind blank. Ed gets bullied because I act like myself…? Why does that make him a victim? Because he's my brother? Why does that factor play into all of this?

Abruptly, he stands up. His bangs are casting shadows over his face, making it impossible to see his eyes.

"Just…don't talk to me at school. Please, Al. It'll be better for both of us that way," he says, before starting to walk away. I watch him leave, an aching pain starting to bloom in my chest.

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**(1): The picture that's explained here is supposed to be referenced to Al and the trouble he's going through; he's basically standing in his own burning meadow, forced to breathe in the poisonous air of bullying, but he still endures it nonetheless.**

**I'm starting to enjoy writing this story, so expect some updates soon on it! Hopefully the chapters will start to get a bit longer.**


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